Socially Dismissive Meets Socially Inapt
by AWildCrazyAppears
Summary: (Partner Story to Musical Meets Cynical) On the verge of breaking through and making it into the big leagues, Jace and his band, The Choking Alibis, attend a school performance and meet the red haired girl that will change their lives forever. AU, OOC, Clace?
1. Coming Out Of My Cage

**A/N: Hello internet dwellers! If you didn't already know, this follows the rough storyline of Musical Meets Cynical, some parts overlapping to show both perspectives of the story. Enjoy and feedback is always welcome! - C :3**

If you were expecting another happy love story or any type of tale of romantic endeavors, this may tickle your fancy, but don't be mistaken. This may come forward as a sappy and sickly sweet tale of star cross'd lovers whose plights are minimal but they still seem to struggle to put the puzzle pieces together and pursue one another but in reality, is it not the slightest bit romantic at all.

Of course, this is all about self-interpretation. If you find the continuing struggles of teenagers to get their act together as a romance in the making, then sure, it's a love story. In truth, it's more of a story of horrid emotions and passions that lead to the biggest mistake of my life. At least that's how I see it, how I felt when it happened. You may not agree with me, but that's life, and there now is the story of my disappointing life that has lead to nothing.

See here, there was this passion I had as a child. Really more though, it was thrust upon me by my family and in time, my friend Alec. You could say that I was born with the superpower of being a music protégé, mastering the piano from a young age and having the ability to recite many classic pieces to those who asked. To be truthful, it was a shitty superpower. With being a great pianist-in-the-making, I lacked the ability to have friends, and let alone befriend someone. Maybe it was because I was awkward and had weird fetishes. Yeah that was probably it. One of my strange fetishes include the struggles some faced with hay fever. From the first time I had witness someone with puffy, red eyes, watering and sick looking, holding a sodden tissue in one hand, I wonder what caused this illness. Perhaps it was because I didn't suffer from hay fever myself that I got jealous of these people, and thus lead to my interest in it.

On that one day, I had decided that I had liked the fact that some people were susceptible to the changing of the seasons and what it brought along with it, and how these individuals' bodies reacted to this. The way that their bodies acted as if they didn't want anything to do with the pollen particles in the air, how they would respond with annoyance at the dynamic of climate, it seemed, to the extent that they would fight back with snot filled ammunition. I had begun to like the fact that these people's bodies were unable to accept the fact that winter had left them and spring had its crosshairs lined up on them, ready to direct a three-month spell of pollen-induced torture their way. After the years of realizing this articulating of my most weird of fetishes, I finally understood how desperately lonely and in need of a hay fever-suffering friend I was.

Between my almost religious study of the piano, I recalled my days where I could sit in the open park, feel a warm snap of wind pinching my ears, the rustling it did to my golden hair and the back spray of small twigs that it sent to my piercing topaz eyes. Along with the numerous amounts of music scores and the occasional piece of literature, I had snatched a large box of tissues and some antihistamines to carry in my distressed messenger bag, in the hopes of making that dream of a friend a reality.

Whilst my nose was stuck in a book, breathing in the aroma of it's old pages, and my mind was travelling deeper and deeper through a poppy-filled meadow leading to the outlines of a city constructed of green stone (A/N: excuse The Wizard of Oz references, I have Wicked on my mind and am trying to get rid of it.), I noticed out of the corner of my eye a dark haired boy, roughly the same age as me, beginning to sit down next to me, earphones in on the elongated park bench. He was sniffling, one of his pale hands rubbing his sunken crimson eyes. In his other hand though were the remnants of a handkerchief, stained with forest-coloured mucus, sounding squishy as he tensed his fingers to form a fist.

Trying to find a way to break the tension, and all because this was my only chance to maybe befriend and learn the mysterious of those plagued with hay fever, I offered out a box of tissues in one hand toward him.

"Would you like a tissue?"

He jumped a little, surprised by my invitation. His eyes dilated slightly as he, taking out both his earphones, awkwardly mumbling "Thanks. At least someone is prepared for this hay fever, unlike stupid me." as he pulled out a few tissues before blowing his flaking and seemingly tender nose. The skin was thin and the blood flow was evident around the nose, reflective of the effect of hay fever on this black locked boy. This is the point where I seemed utterly creepy and like the loner I was.

"Oh no," I said, my hands stretched out in front of me, waving them vigorously. Cue the creepiness. "I don't suffer from hay fever. My name's Jace, what's yours?" I had thought at the time that his acceptance of my invitation of tissues issued my certainty of learning his name. Or at least, it seemed like a fair trade at the time. After ridding his nasal cavities of snot and belly-laughing at my request, slapping his knee as his body rocking back and forth, he turned to look me dead in the eye.

"Do you honestly think that just because I had a bit of a sniffle and you were the one to tame the terror before it became Muc-ageddon, that I would be so willing to tell you who I am?" He said. I felt a slight pain in my gut, the feeling of failure being to course it's way through my veins. As I began to lover my head and curling my messenger bag and arms into cradle my body, he laughed again. Hate to overdo it, mate. I'm already a loser, couldn't you just sugarcoat it for me?

"Just kidding, the name's Alexander but you can just call me Alec." He said, putting a hand out toward me. Devoid of social skills, I simply stared at his hand for some time before joining it with mine and pathetically shaking it.

After what to me seemed like no time but was probably to the normal person at least an hour or so, Alec and I had seemed to talk to each other as if we had been close friends for years, exchanging information such as literature tastes and travel. I had found it utterly fascinating to speak to him, motioning the prospect of us becoming friends. Although my disturbing of the universe was not to the same degree as Alfred J Prufrock, I was struggling to even conjugate the words I would use to lead up to the question, rather I just boldly asked.

"Alec," I said, my words wavering. "Do you… do you…uhm…do you think we are friends?" I eventually spat out. Apparently my out-of-the-blue query had stumped Alec, with him returning a blank-faced look at me. Then he had begun to laugh his hearty laugh, along with the characteristic knee-slapping, that is not way was fake. It was completely genuine and in no way choreographed.

"Of course we are friends Jace. Why wouldn't we be?" Alec had said, continuing to slap his knees with each quick contraction of his diaphragm. I wasn't sure how to react to this news, I had never had a friend before and most definitely had never had someone laugh at me as if I had failed to see the obvious, so I just sat here, next to Alec , with my hands in my lap, a grin plastered to my face. For the first time in such a long time, I feel this nostalgic feeling of pure happiness and I let in take over me.

Overtime, we had become inseparable, spending all of our time together nearly every day. This was also around the same time as my father had become sick. And when I say sick, I mean really sick. When I was much young than when I had meet Alec, my father and I frequently visited the city in search of old bookstores. Old classical literature and the like was not only my passion at the time, but majorly my fathers. We both could have spent hours, even days if that didn't seem socially unaccepted at the time, in these stores, the different ages of these books and how the printing process had changed over time fascinating to us. After he had contracted what I called 'recluse-syndrome', he escaped to his study a lot, and didn't bother to go to the city with me anymore. I had abandoned my passion for literature shortly after meeting Alec, as my father had become more and more sheltered from me, not because I had run out books to read, but instead because I missed the connection I had formed with my father because of it. That year wasn't all sad and gloomy, though. It greats a bit more cheery now, I promise.

In the fleeting months after meeting Alec, he had introduced me to music. That is not to say that I had never heard music is my life, I did play the piano eloquently but that the music I knew was nothing like the music Alec knew. One day, after a long last day of school for the year that neither of us enjoyed much, Alec had invited me over to his house for the first time, which was quite exciting. As we trudged home, our school bags nearly bursting at the seams, Alec has asked me what type of music I liked, in which I had shamefully answered which the fact that I never really listened to music and had little knowledge of it, just of the classics I learnt to play on the piano. He had been shocked by this fact, promising me that he would make his mission to culture me in music and to provide me a decent taste in music, great music not some mundane pop music.

"I promise you, Jace, that I, Alec, will be your music guru and teach you the ways of the cultured, and in time you will know what decent music is and will love it." Alec promised, a serious look on his face. I couldn't help but laugh at this rare moment of non-joking that Alec was known for, it was so not like him but at the same time it fitted him perfect.

"Whatever you say, hit me up with some culture." I chuckled at him. Upon entering his house and in time, a labyrinthine of music, shelves and shelves of vinyls, cassettes and taking the majority, CDs. It was like an old bookstore to me, the sorting of the articles in media form, then year then alphabetised. The little part of me that was organised and efficient loved this. Alec walked over the CD side of the room, running his fingers along the spines of their cases, searching. Finally he seemed to have found what he was looking for, taking out a handful of CDs from the shelf and handing them to me.

"Alec, I can't take these." I said, trying to hand them back to me. I really couldn't accept this gift, I mean, sure I needed the culture but this was too much.

"I'm not giving them to you, silly. I'm letting you borrow them; this is your homework for the week. I want you to listen to these and next week, tell me what you think of them." As much as I probably didn't need more homework on my plate, I humbling took the CDs, placing them in my school bag with trouble and let them dwell on my mind as we talked for hours and hours. For the next months, going into the new year, I had moved on from the classics as Alec called it and into more modern music.

"Here," he said, handing over just a few CDs this time, these ones were placed up the farther end of the CDs shelf in the musical library of his house. "Listen to these carefully, these are some my favourites from the early 2000s, and tell me what you think." On the front of each CD, the name "The Killers" read. This initially had seemed controversial to me. Why would someone blatantly put out there that indeed they wanted to be called The Killers? I didn't get it really.

That night, after I enjoyed an unexpected meal with Alec and his family, sitting between him and his younger sister, Isabelle, her flowing ink coloured hair obscuring my view of her face. She was like Alec, very opinionated and stubborn.

"Alec, have you let Jace listen to The Temper Trap yet? I think they are amazing." Isabelle argued with her brother, a twinkle in her eye at the mention of that band. She told me they were this indie Australian band, and they were so different from all the other bands that I had heard of as she handed me their debut album Conditions. Alec, as did I, didn't think much of them but understood why Isabelle doted over them. This 'lack of culture' as it seemed to Isabelle was my downfall in her eyes, beginning our petty hate for each other.

As I threw my old messenger bag, the exact one from Alec and I's first encounter, down on my bed, I searched for The Killers CDs I had as homework, eager to partake in it. As soon I found my stereo, I put in the first CD, Hot Fuss and thus began my love.

My love for the Killers was like an old faucet; it took some time to get started, struggling at first but then it was uncontrollable. I'm still not sure to the day whether it was because it was like nothing I've heard before or even because I wanted to impress Alec with my sudden awareness of great music but The Killers became my new passion.

The next week after I had returned the CDs to Alec, which should more accurately be titled 'The Week of Discovery', I had finally plucked up the courage to ask him to teach me how to play the guitar and the like. Upon first look, it wasn't much like playing the piano. I mean, there were chords shapes and riffs but the method was so alien to me that it felt wrong, like I was cheating on the piano with the new guitar. It didn't take me too long to get the basics of playing a guitar, although Alec was still way better than me, but by this point I was addicted. Every other day, between homework and imploring myself in reciting new pieces for the piano, I would spend a solid few hours just practicing chord shapes, some riffs Alec had taught me and then slowly but surely learning the tabs of The Killers songs.

"Alec," I said, midway through a jam session at his house. Alec had invited over myself, and a few other friends who seemed to show the musical gene, to have a bit of a play, nothing seriously. After maybe a few songs, an idea clicked in my brain.

"What, Jace?" Alec replied, slowly sliding his fingers over an electric guitar, the sound of it reverberating through a small amplifier next to him. It was piercing to the ear, with the high sharp note echoing around the whole room, brushing up against the soundproofing and the countless band posters placed awkwardly on the walls. His black hair was nearly dripping in his own sweat, drenching from the continuous head banging from playing Mr. Brightside, a group favourite.

"Let's start a band." The room filled up with laughter, laughter at the notion that a group of preadolescent kids playing music seriously and professionally could be achieved. I was beginning to feel the anger in my body reach up to take power over my mouth, to unleash a torrent of hate toward the others.

"Sure, Jace, but why?" Jonathon, the drummer with the head of white asked, holding back a snicker. Sebastian and Alec looked toward me for a response that I seemed to be lacking. Why did I want to be in a band? I had no clue. So I answered with, "Because we can," and the guys smiled at each other, on board and ready to go.

Now, the name of our band was probably one of the easier things when it came to starting up the group. We all had a mutual love for The Killers, me a bit more than the others simply because it was my newfound religion and passion, so we though that we should honour them.

"What about The Choking Alibis?" Alec had suggested, after many ideas had gone around the table to say. We all looked at each other, thinking about the name and finally agreeing that it was perfect. It had sense to us; Mr. Brightside was the collective favourite song to play and to listen to freely. And that was the first jam session of our band, the first of many to come.

Since I've been talking on about nothingness for a good while, how about we go forward to the moment in time that everything seemed perfect but wasn't. The night that I meet my red haired girl and got slapped for being an ass. But to be honest, I probably deserved it and you've to give her credit, she slapped pretty good.


	2. Heaven Ain't Close In A Place Like This

**A/N: Thanks for all the support on my stories, its pretty awesome. Hit me up with PMs, maybe for story suggestions or oneshot ideas. I'm all ears (more like eyes, but yeah) :)**

Even after playing many gigs in this shonky little town with no future and no past, no way of breaking free and becoming the smallest bit famous, I was still nervous to play the performance night at school. This was not because I was afraid of what my fellow peers and the whole of the community would think of me, but because every gig made me nervous and awkward. It was like my younger self was trying to take my limelight, still adamant that their strange obsessions were cool or something like that. I am sure that every gig we ever played, I had missed a high note or played the wrong chord, but Alec would anyways reassure me later, with a condoling pat on the back and roll of the eyes.

"Jace, for the last time, we needed to be at school 15 minutes ago. Why are you even straightening your hair?" The piercing growl of Isabelle crept under the bathroom door, slightly echoing in the small space.

"The lead singer needs to look his best always, don't you always say, dear Issy?" I called back, guiding the hot flat iron across a chunk of my golden fringe. "Hate to be a bit of hypocrite, don't we?"

"Shut up, or else I will permanently shut you up. Anyway, we are loading the last of the gear, so get your ass downstairs quickly." She stomped her dancer feet, making the timber boards of the nearby staircase squeal and squawk under her fury. Along my hair was pretty straight normally, I still gave it a small touch up, to follow though with the tradition of each gig and in order to not jinx myself. Isabelle was being a bit of hypocrite though, she was the one who founded this philosophy or obsession of mine, so don't blame me.

It was probably on the night of our second or third gig, and we were getting prepped at Alec's house because we had just had practice there. My anxiety was at its peak, making me question whether I knew the songs or was even the slightest bit talented. I had pictured the scene of the band entering onto the stage, harsh beams blinding us, making it impossible to see the audience.

"Hi there," I would have said into the microphone, my hands trembling and hair obscuring my face. "We're, uhm… We're The Choking Alibis. I'm Jace," and gestured to myself.

"Our bassist is Alec, Jonathon plays the drums and Sebastian and Magnus," I indicated to the two boys either side of me. "Are in charge of synths/piano, guitar with some backing vocals between them." The drop of a pin could in heard in the room, the tick of the clock hand and the chirp of a grasshopper. Figures had begun to appear through the piercing light, blank-faced and limited. None of them seemed our age, all primarily probably midst 30's. Tough crowd, I figured.

But this awkwardness made me feel horrible, like they didn't want to hear us or anything, that we weren't good enough to be playing on this stage, that we were a disgrace. These thought weighed heavily on me, causing me to run off stage, in a fit of frustration. Behind me, I could hear the others beginning to play our typical opening number, 'Enterlude', and dragging it out in wait of my return.

I couldn't find the strength to will myself to go back out there and sing, not with their judging looks and disinterest. My nerves were shot and beyond repair. Isabelle, who had come with us to see what it was like to be a roadie or something like that, whatever excuse she always made when we had a gig in town, looked at me questionably.

"I can't do it. These people aren't what I expected. I can't perform, they hate us." I blurted out, a steady stream of tears beginning to collect on the floor in front of me. I bit my lip, tasting salty tears and the metallic taste of my own blood, and slumped my shoudlers.

"Damnit Jace. Get a grip." Isabelle said, obviously angry with me but still acting like a sister. She gave a short hug, resting her head on my broad shoulder and her thin arms around my torso. "I know how to make you feel a bit better."

"I doubt it, my of dignity left as soon as I walked out on that stage. No sexual favours could bring that back." Even though I was visibly upset, Isabelle still slapped me for basically saying she was a slut, and then thrust her other hand toward mine. Enclosed by her long fingers was a hair straightener. Girls are weird seriously. "I'll straighten it for you."

"I am failing to see how burning my hair will make me feel any better. If this is some twisted way of paying me back for walking in you…"

"I told you to never speak of that, idiot. What you are lacking currently is a bit of self-confidence. And trust me, the hair straightener will bring it back, I promise." She smiled, waiting as the warm straightener became hot in her hand, the two burning metal plate pressed against each other, and turned to face me, opening and closing it with a evil grin on her face. I cringed; slightly scared of Isabelle when it came to things she could use to hurt me with.

"Okay, you can straighten my hair, but I swear, if even one strand is black by the end of it, I will sue your ass." I threatened, watching as she grabbed a fair chunk of my fringe and ran the heated metal across it. A sizzling noise came from the apparatus, making me worry more.

"You should probably sure my hands, not my booty. I don't think I could use my butt to operate a hair straightener." Isabelle said, like the smartass she was.

"That's not what I saw when I opened your bedroom door…" A pain lingered in my side after Isabelle punched me, a good hit for a girl but not as good as Clary's slap, but I'm spoiling the story now.

After only a minute or two of rapidly styling, Isabelle had made my hair straighter than normal, which wasn't that different. Bu the sense of this self-indulging vanity brought back some my pride, making me feel like I could do it. I could sing and no one else's opinions mattered. The haters didn't matter anymore.

"How do you feel?" Isabelle asked, pulling me back to the stage entrance where Magnus and Sebastian had been singing, in the last few bars of the song.

"Great, thank you. I didn't know that a hair straightener had such power."

"Well, get out there and knock 'em dead. But not too dead, I still need that guys number." She said, pointing at a guy near the stage, probably in his 20s.

"Yeah, whatever." I called after me, running back to my position at the microphone, front and centre. I turned to look at the others, mouthing 'sorry' and clutching the microphone stand, a wave of euphoria ready to hit me like a brick wall. Unlacing the two, the mike rested just an inch beneath my mouth, pressing up against my chin. Soon enough, the rest of band grew quiet.

I snuck a quick glance at Sebastian, who was reaching down to grab his pick that he dropped. Alec and Jonathon nodded at me, waiting for me to start us off. Quickly slinging the electric guitar to be flush with my chest, my left hand resting lightly on the frets and my right beside me, bound to a pick as well.

I counted in, and started to play the opening riff to the song, my mouth was up right against the mike again. "Coming out of my cage, and I'll be doing just fine," and soon enough, we had won the audience over. Since that gig, and until my last day with the band, I had always straightened my hair, and reminded myself of the confidence I had felt. Although maybe my self confidence had become more and more overbearing on everyone, too bad.

"Shotgun." I yell, nearly tripping down the stairs to the garage. The back of van was still opening, with the last of our amps and my guitar being added to the already crowded flat bay. School was a frugal sometimes, you could say, with making us bring our own equipment to a performance night they were hosting. It's a good thing I guess that we liked our gear better.

"Damnit, Jace. You can't just yell shotgun. You're not a child anymore." Alec called, hopping into the driver's seat of the van. It was his van after all, the luxury that came with being in a band and having vastly wealthy parents.

"You're right. I'm twelve years old, you can stop me." I said, tongue in cheek as I flipped the seatbelt on the passenger seat in my hand, subconsciously before locking it into place. The back door swung closed, shaking the gear around a little. The snare of the drum sounded softly alongside the tiny rattle of the crash plates. Because there were only enough seats in the van to take 4 other people beside the driver, Jonathon and Sebastian opted to drive Jonathon's rough 2 door car to meet up with us at school, while Magnus and Isabelle came with us.

"You sure seem like twelve year old somedays." Isabelle said to Magnus, who continued to gossip about nothing with her. I fiddled with the music playing quietly in the car as Alec adjusted his mirrors, looking to his right to signal for the others to go ahead. A roar of Jonathon ploughing down the Lightwood driveway, into the dark night sounded as the van's engine came to life. After finding a good song, head bobbing started and so did our trip to school for one unforgettable performance. The drive wasn't that long, with traffic being light on this side of town. We had finally arrived at the front of the main school building, 10 minutes before the opening number, with a long precession of cars trailing us, some blaring their horns.

"Get the equipment out as fast as you can when we stop. Jace, can you text the others to get to the van quick?" Alec said, stressing slightly as we rounded the car loop in front of the building, idling. We jumped out of the van, barely remembering to close the doors behind us. Jonathon and Sebastian met us at the back of the van, flinging the back door opened and trolleying drums in. Isabelle and I carried the guitars and amps in turns, while Magnus took the synths, microphones and cables, taking three trips to get everything. Alec quickly dashed off to park the van in the staff car park, next to Jonathon's, meeting us back stage.

A bead of sweat ran down my forehead as I rested my weight against the pile of gear we had in a made-do green room behind the large auditorium.

"We made it," Isabelle said, relieved. She had to perform in the less than 20 minutes, by herself after the rest of her dance class did due to our lack of punctuality. Magnus sat down with his back against the brick wall, heavily breathing, and lightly held Alec's hand tenderly, stroking his smooth digits along the top of Alec's calloused ones. I rested my head on the brick hair, letting it scratch away at my skin, and closed my eyes.

If for one second you think that just because I'm an attractive young male in a band in which I just happen to be the lead singer for that I would be bound to be a ladies man, you are absolutely wrong in every single way. I didn't appreciate the fact that a lot of girls at our school like to throw themselves at me, desperate for my undying love, and sometimes stalked me home. I didn't want to be with a girl who was like, I just wanted to have a friend that was girl but not like Isabelle, she was more like a sister. I wanted to have a girl as a friend who didn't care that I was a musician or that I was a 'chick magnet' as Magnus put it once. She didn't have to like any of those girls, she just needed to be a girl that was different from the majority that seemed to know my home address. She would be simple and beautiful, funny and adorable but most of all, she would be amazing. Was that too much to ask? I thought in that moment hoping and waiting for a miracle to occur and for me to find that girl.

Whilst stuck in my thoughts, Isabelle had slipped out to the stage, the stomp of her pointe shoes against the timber floor, not as gracefully as a swan. With Isabelle gone, that left us only a few acts between our set, and my nerves were finally setting in.

"What songs are we doing tonight, Jace?" Alec asked, pulling up Magnus to stand next to him, hands still laced together. Magnus looked off to the distance, like he was deep in thought. Jonathon and Sebastian were snickering to themselves, like the little perverts they were. After the girls who had stalked me everywhere finally gave up on their ongoing quests to win my heart, Jonathon and Sebastian would play them like harps, breaking their hearts over and over. When I met the girl of my fantasies, I would be sure to protect her from those creeps, I thought, shooting them a look to come over and join our conversation.

"I was thinking that we do two of the regulars and another were we get someone from the audience to join us." I said, counting the songs on my fingers.

"Somebody Told Me can be one of the regulars." Jonathon said, his drumsticks sticking out of the front of his jeans pockets.

"And maybe Human, we haven't played that one in a while." Magnus said, eyes blank.

"We're a little rusty on that one, but lets give it a try." Alec said, griping Magnus's hand tighter. Magnus returned a smile, and resting his head on Alec's shoulder, still wearing a worried look on his face. I wonder what he was thinking about.

"Jace, since you had the idea to let a random join us on the last song, you pick which one since we will probably be singing with you. I doubt we can accommodated for another guitarist or something." Sebastian said, looking at his feet.

I had but a clue what song we could do a final, let alone what would be good to with someone else that we didn't know. Then, it hit me.

"Read My Mind? Or something, maybe we could let them pick." I hesitated, thinking about the problem of this person not knowing the lyrics or even any other songs. "What if they don't know any songs by The Killers? What do we do?"

"Be sure to pick someone who seems cultured then, not a bimbo." Jonathon said, his tone was quite condescending.

"We all know that's its not me who has a weakness for the bimbos." I snapped back, smiling a little to myself. One of the students managing the stage tapped me on the shoulder, saying that we need to get out there in a few, and said there were some people helping with equipment if we need. I thank the girl kindly, flashing my famous smile and nearly making her faint.

The volunteers she sent seemed to be much like her, short of breath and fangirling over us. The group of them, 6 in total, were much younger than us it seemed. It felt a little weird to be fawned over by twelve year olds nearly, sending the creepy vibe across the room. Half of us were already 18 and these girls didn't even look like they were supposed to be in high school. **(A/N: When I talk about high school, I mean typical Australian high schools, which are Year 7 to 12. These guys are in Year 12, like yours truly, and the volunteers are in Year 7, just for a little context.) **Alec balanced on the balls of his feet, looking at me as if to tell me about his discomfort. I nodded my head slightly, feeling awkward also. Applause sounded from the stage, and the previous student waked into the backstage main hallway, signaling for us to make our way onto the stage. Feeling nervous as we made our way though the maze of people lining up from performing, chatting with each other quietly, I remembered that special gig, letting myself smile and walked onto the stage with the rest of the guys to a room full of people and the one girl.

The last of equipment was just begging set up, my microphone and stand were placed central to the stage floor, while the guitars, synths/keyboard laying either side of me. The drum kit was set up behind me, all of the individual drums in the right places for Jonathon. I asked told Magnus earlier that night about playing guitar since he had only recently played guitar more frequent for the band, preferring piano over it. He agreed, a little nervous about it, but I had reassured him that my guitar was perfect for him and he would be fine.

"Hello all." I began to ramble, quite anxious still. The memory of the hair straightening wasn't helping me much tonight. "We're the Choking Alibis. And if it wasn't already obvious, The Killer's cover band because we can't play anything this good, I guess." My ego spoke for me for the rest of the time before we started our set. As my mouth trailed on, I noticed a girl sitting up the back of the theatre, isolated, shaking her head at me.

And it that moment, I knew that she was the one. She was wearing blue jeans, the ones with worn out knees, a long sleeved black top and a pair of white canvas shoes from what I could tell. Her long red hair was pulling into some kind of plait, as Isabelle had showed me years ago when she asked we to do her hair once. That wasn't the best idea. I had decided at that moment in time and space, in the universe and all of history, that she would join me on stage and that she would be the one I let in to my life.

As my stupid brain continued to be a prat, Jonathon started to count us in, tapping his drumsticks together and I shut up. The first song, Somebody Told Me, went without a hitch. Magnus had a smile plastered to his smile, all of his nerves from earlier had disappeared as he ripped up a bit of a solo at the end. The girl of the dreams had begun to smile a bit, happy with our performance.

Soon enough, we head back into gear with Human, which we hadn't practiced as much as Somebody Told Me. I was a little worried that we would be a bit rusty on this one but by the end, the crowd was screaming for more. We decided to take a quick break to have a breather and to build up the tension.

Catcalls and feminine screams of encore erupted from the audience, many of the girls in the audience yelling at the top of their lungs, practically begging. As we made our way back on for the encore, the screams turned into cries of desperation. My narcissistic self was loving it.

"An encore you say?" The crowd responded, sounding like demonic roar of voices. Alec and Magnus had hung around me as I addressed the audience, while Jonathon and Sebastian hurried over to talk it over.

"Are you sure about all this, Jace?" Magnus asked, his nerves returning. I nodded.

"Yeah, pretty sure. I'm going to ask the red head up the back to volunteer, is that all good?" They all gave me a thumbs-up, while the crowd roared wildly.

We all returned to our places, my hands finding the microphone. "Okay, okay. One more song?" The audience answered me back with a round of 'yes' and 'hell yeah'.

"For this last number, we will need a volunteer to help us with this one." As the words escaped my lips, several of the girls in the front rows fainted and the others squealing with delight, throwing themselves toward me as I ran through the crowd. Trying to avoid the grabbing hands and begging, I bolted up to the girl, jumped over rows of chairs until I was standing at the end of her row. Sidestepping past more desperate females, I finally had made it to her. She was looking up at me, her intoxicating green eyes affixed to me. I lent my hand to her, still huffing and puffing from the run up here and uttered the words that could change my life forever.

"Care to join me on stage?"


End file.
